The Sacred Mirror
by M.A. Federico
Summary: In ancient times, the Sacred Mirror was a divne relic that kept the dimension in check. No dimension ever crossed with another. But, someway, somehow, the Mirror had failed in its goal. And all of Hyrule is paying the price.


**The Legend of Zelda**

**The Sacred Mirror**

**Chapter One**

**Bunansa**

The sun was shining as brightly as ever as Shea's fishing rod plunged into the Odo River. The Odo River, which was the main river that ran through the land the Demen Clans occupied, was known for its ferocious fish. They certainly weren't nearly as dangerous as piranhas. In fact, they weren't dangerous to anything larger than a tad pole.

They just had a tendency to swallow bait. And they somehow managed to take fishing poles down the river.

And that is actually what happened to the blonde haired Shea. For what must of have been the sixth time that afternoon, he jumped to his feet and cursed the fish.

As he grabbed another pole from the pile – knowing his bad luck with the Odo fish, he had come prepared – he swore he would get his revenge.

There were those who knew better. Shea was many things, and depending on who you asked, most of them weren't pleasant. Knowing when to give up was not one of them.

Ilia sighed. The sixteen year sent her rough fingers through her shoulder length blonde hair. "Shea, you know no matter how many times your curse, the Odo fish won't stop letting go."

"Shut up", he ordered. Ilia just rolled her eyes.

Ten minutes later, another Odo fish stole the fishing pole.

"Damnit!"

Ilia chose wisely to keep quiet. She found it somewhat amusing, Shea's tantrums actually. He was to be the next chief of the Demen Clans, and here he was, whining and cursing over lost rods and smarter fish.

"Can we go now?" she asked. "This is our last day off from chores before your big and mighty ceremony tomorrow, and I'd rather not spend it watching you prove you suck at fishing."

Shea glared at his old friend. She may have been his best friend, but she was being a pain in his royal ass.

Ilia got the message. "Whatever". She slumped on the hill, and planned to took a nice, long nap.

Unfortunately, Ilia's plan would prove to not bear any fruit. One of the boys from the village came rushing in. "Shea! Ilia!"

Shea was so shocked by the unexpected yell that he pulled the rod behind him, which resulted in the lure slamming straight into Ilia's face.

"The hells be damned", Shea cursed lightly under his lips. Deciding it was best not to face the woman's wrath, he ran to the boy. "Ido, what the hells do you want? Can't you see we're busy?"

The boy gulped. One of Shea's many ills was he had a quick temper, and was something of a bully when angered. On second thought, when Ido thought about it, Shea was always a bully, with him bossing everyone around him, old and young. And with Shea being the next in line to be Chief of the Clans, there really wasn't anything anyone but the Chief could do. However, with the Chief actually _supporting_ his son, believing it was the planting the seed of a fearless Chief, Shea wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

"Ido!" He grabbed the boy by his collars, and shook. "What do you need?"

"Your pa wants you!"

"Thanks for the info." He dropped the boy to the ground. "Come on Ilia!" Shea raced off for the road, hoping to outrun Ilia for long enough she'll have lost her temper by the time the two minute journey was finished.

Shea didn't get the poles, though. He'll just send someone else to get them. After all, he _was_ to be the next Chief. Why bother carrying it all when somebody else – like Ido – could do it for him?

* * *

They arrived in Bunansa mere minutes later; Shea huffing and puffing from all the running away from Ilia, and his female companion with a glaring face that said 'MUST KILL!'. From anywhere in the village, they could plainly see dozens, if not at least a hundred of wagons. The Demen Clans were not found in just Bunansa, after all – they were spread over hundreds of miles over the Demen Plains. Clansmen from all over were hoarding into the small city to witness Shea's ascension to being their Chief. 

Bunansa was certainly a large city, by Demen standards at least. It was spread over thirty square miles, all of its buildings made from mud and wood. The roads were dirt. The signs carved from rock. Everything, like all things Demen, were made from the land. No manufacturing plants that tainted the skies like the Death Mountains of the Gorons, or Central of the kingdom Eluryh.

The Demen lived, breathed, ate, and died off of the land. They weren't nomads – well, a few families still were. They weren't kept to the Old Age, not by far. They long had forsaken the superstitious beliefs of the Triforce, and the Three Goddesses.

Bu their culture had remained the same. The way of brotherhood, of death before dishonor, of all, regardless of class and race, were welcomed as a Demen. These things have never changed for the Demen.

Shea and Ilia made their way through the roads of Bunansa. Occasionally, Shea's eyes would glitter at the sight of a few pretty girls. But whenever he did, Ilia would kick him back into shape, and they would continue the march.

It wasn't long until they reached Shea's home, the Clan hall. Bunansa was built around a circle of small hills, and the Clan hall was built right in the center hill. As a result, out of necessity for the supports to keep its own weight, as well as the unwritten rule that the rulers house always needs to be the biggest, the Clan hall was the largest house in the area. It wasn't that hard to find; in fact, if it was your first time in Bunansa, you could find it within a half hour, since it was visible from nearly every position.

Some said that ego ran in the bloodline of the Chiefs. They weren't _too_ far from the truth.

They climbed up the stairs that circle around the hill, all of which led to the Clan hall. The guards opened the large, decorated and wooden doors for Shea. Ilia, as was custom, stayed behind.

Shea found the Chief quickly enough, with him at the far end of the opening hall.

Ulsdean had a similar appearance to his son. Long blonde hair that went down to his shoulders, some of which were braided. He sported a somewhat finely trimmed beard. His face had a few scars, must of which were from farming and hunting accidents, his nose had a large, round shape to it. He had the face of an experienced and wise leader; wherever it was truth depended on whom you asked.

The Chief rose up from his large, wooden chair. It too was heavily, some would say overly, decorated. "Shea, sit." He obeyed the order. Ulsdean clapped his hands.

Instantly, a cloaked figure came in. He was no Demen, which was a rarity in itself. Shea twirled the blonde bangs as he pondered who this person was.

The man was not tanned like the rest of the Demen; he was pale, and bald. His face was even more wrinkled than Shea's father, although that truly wasn't saying much.

"Shea, this is Argos Maraxium."

"Hakato", (Hello) Shea greeted the foreigner.

"He comes here on behalf of Eluryh." By now, the man had taken his seat, without the Ulsdean's position. Shea got the impression this Argos didn't give much care for the Demen. "As can be expected, he is here to represent Eluryh as you descend to Chieftain."

"Queen Zelda Nohansen wishes you, Shea, the best of luck in ruling the Demen. We rely heavily on your resources, as well as keeping the Moblins in their forests. We hope that your roles will remain in the same light as they do now under your father's rule."

"Something I intend to do, Argos Maraxium. As long as Eluryh doesn't get any over zealous ideas, I'm sure the Demen and Eluryh will have many peaceful years to come."

"Queen Zelda has no intent, I assure you."

"Excellent. No qualms then."

Argo turned to face the Chief now. "I am sorry the Queen and her attendants will not be able to make it. Matters keep them behind."

"Do you mean the Meeting of Nations?"

"Yes."

The Meeting of Nations was an event held every four years, where a representative from every nation and race met in Central to discuss current events of the world. It was a vital reason why no war in any shape or form had occurred since the Final War seventeen years prior.

"Speaking of which, I had the intent of sending Shea soon after soon after the Ceremony tomorrow. You remember, don't you Shea."

"Of course, father. Hard to remember a talk with that as the topic."

"Then I would have no ills with bringing Shea with my party on our return trip to

Central."

Ulsdean nodded his head. "That leaves a lot of weight off of my head. Thank you, Argos."

With that, Argos rose from his seat. "Then I must depart. I should return to my room, if I'm going to stay awake from the whole Ceremony."

"Good idea", Shea commented. "We Demen have surprised a few of you others from Eluryh in how long we stay up for these sorts of things."

"I'll keep that in mind." With a bow, Argos was gone.

"I have a feeling that I'm in for a major headache next time we meet", Shea's father sighed.

"The way that bastard talked to you father, it's the least he deserved!"

"That man can do what he wants, Shea."

"Just because they're good for trade means nothing to me."

Ulsdean sighed. "Maybe not to you, but to the Clans, Eluryh is everything."

"Whatever." Shea got up from his chair and left the Clan Hall.

'_I will teach them respect'¸_ Shea swore.

* * *

Shea had a hard time drinking that night. Usually Nol Nol Wine came easy for him; he would go through as many as four bottles before he was even hinted at getting a stupor. But tonight, his mind was on other things.

He knew that tomorrow was going to be a vital day in his life, as well as the history of the Demen. He would be officially recognized as next in line to be Chieftain: when his father died, he would be Chief.

Before, he thought being Chief would be easy. Now, granted, he knew that being Chief was not what you would classify as an 'easy' profession. Despite that, by watching his father, he had the feeling no great obstacles would be coming this way.

But after today, after meeting Argos Maraxium, he knew exactly what it meant to be Chief. It meant to tolerate dishonor after dishonor, all in the means of physical peace.

It meant giving yourself up for the sake of others.

When Shea said those five words, 'I will teach them respect', he was drunk with pride and vigor. He had no real idea what those words meant.

But now he did. It meant 'I care nothing for the people I lead! I care only for _my_ pride'.

Was he ready to take on such a task? Was he _willing_ to become Chief?

As Shea pondered this, he drank another bottle of the wine. He eventually drank himself into a drunken sleep.

Luckily for Shea, no one found him in his state. He woke up a few hours later, in the same bar, with it still full of patrons. Muttering some curses at himself, he walked out of the bar, clutching onto his cloak, and into the night.

He wandered the streets for a long time, not aiming for any true destination. His mind had no thoughts; his hearts had no longing for a goal. He just walked.

Morning came a few hours later. Shea didn't get any sleep, but he didn't feel tired. He was too awake with the thoughts of his destiny to even think about sleeping.

Besides, today was the day he was to become Chief.

* * *

Whenever he had the chance, Shea avoided contact with anyone he knew, in particular. When attendants were preparing him for the festival, he would answer their questions as quickly as possible. He wasn't in the mood for much talk.

His father noticed as he ate lunch that Shea was unusually quiet. The Chief, suspecting it was just him thinking about the coming days, allowed the boy some piece.

Even the mostly dense towns people something was up with Shea the few seconds they caught a sight of him.

"He'd be thinking dark thoughts, I say!"

"Leo, you're an idiot as always. First you said a flood was a'coming, then poisoned fish!"

"But look at Shea there! He looks dark and moody!"

"So will ya if you don't keep that hole of yours zipped up good!"

And thus, that was the end of Leo's ramblings. At least for now.

* * *

The night, and the ceremony with it, came sooner that Shea wished. The whole of Bunansa was covered in many decorations: banners, rainbow colored lights, decorative lanterns, and many others. It was a grand celebration, and Shea did his best to make himself look like it reflected his mood.

Many people tired to come up to him, most of them Demen who did not know that Shea didn't let people come to him. Shea would indulge in many conversations with them, doing his best to put up a mask of a man happy to accept his inheritance. He would speak for many minutes, and when he was tiring of the trickery, would think of an excuse and depart. He fooled them all, even those who were quite perspective of these kinds of things.

Now, it should be noted the characteristics of the Demen Clans. They are many things: firstly, they are warriors of honor and much prestige. They are the first to sign up for war, if they feel the need is right, against whatever odds. Many tales have been spun about an over whelmed group of selfless Demen who face a seemingly impossible task. The story always ends with the said Demen beating the odds, or sacrificing their lives for the sakes of their goal. It always warms a Demen hearts, stories like that.

Secondly, they are workers. Few Demen can sit in a structure all day and read and write, unlike the Twili. Demen are a working people; they're hands, legs and booty need to be moving if they are to be satisfied. If a Demen is getting cranky, tell them some bridge needs to be fixed, and they'll be off to do it without a request for anything.

Now, lastly, and at this moment in time, most importantly, Demen loved to eat. They also loved to get fat, but that is getting too far ahead in the matter. Give a Demen food, and they will be eternally grateful. Give them scraps, and they will eb sure to be angry for a good deal of time.

When Demen are at parties, they expect many things. Certainly dances are guaranteed, as well as some long, hopefully entertaining speeches or something of the sort. But they _demanded_ food. No party was a true party without at least half a table covered inch to inch with food.

Let it be said here and now that there was more food than any Demen could even fathom. The tables were full of food; baskets hanging from the pillars had apples and bananas; children were passing out sweets imported from the industrial cities. There was more food here than a Demen probably deserved.

The party, for indeed the ceremony was more partying than ceremonious, lasted for a good many hours. Argo, and the other Eluryians were quite shocked at what was a typical Demen ceremony. They were expecting tranquil music, hushed tones, and a moderate amount of food. They found the celebration was the exact opposite in almost every way: people were loud as boars, the music was drums beating constantly, and there was simply too much food!

After nearly choking on a piece of pig (it was much too medium), Argo sighed one of relief when Ulsdean silenced the crowd and drew their attention to him and his heir, both of them standing on a platform towering over them all.

"Greetings and well met to you Clansmen!"

"Well met!" came the roar.

"It is with great honor that we are hear to honor my blood son's claim to my throne as Chief! He has proven in his seventeen and four months a worthy heir, with a strong arm and a keen wit to aim it!"

A few grumbled, but they were silenced by the approving roar.

"My son, Shea of the Demen, will be the new Chief! He, the Link of us Clans, shall lead you with great pride, honor for you, and many a blood oaths!"

The whole populous was in wondrous applause now.

Ulsdean raised his son's hand. "His name is Shea! Let him lead with a stout heart!"

"Aye! Aye!" They raised their glasses, flushed them down, and slammed them on the table if there was a table to slam it down upon.

The party continued for many good hours afterwards, long after Argo had fainted out of a mixture between exhaustion and a fair bit of drunkenness. The Demen ale has been somewhat infamous out of the Plains, but he never believed that it was so potent.

He did now.


End file.
